Little Details
by ForASecondThereWe'dWon
Summary: Summer has rolled around and Jughead's hanging out at Archie's place, finessing the final draft of the story he wrote around Jason Blossom's murder. Betty, ever Jughead's partner in crime, is there to help, especially to make sure he nails those little details. Rated M for a thorough going-over - though not of the manuscript.


**Author's Note:**

Daaamn, ForASecondThereWe'dWon, back at it again with the Bughead one-shots? You betcha. I've had my head turned by _The Hunger Games_ recently and was writing a bunch in that fandom, unfortunately neglecting this one a little. Hopefully the story you're about to read makes up for it. The actual note I'd like to make is that I'm ignoring that fact that Fred Andrews was shot in the TV series. Coping with the death of your best friend's father wasn't really the vibe I was going for in this story, so romance won out over reality.

Enjoy!

XO ForASecondThereWe'dWon

* * *

"I'm in it too then, right?"

Betty flopped onto Archie's bed and stared down at Jughead. He sat on the ground, his back against the mattress. Betty wasn't quite close enough to look over his shoulder, but he snapped his laptop shut anyway.

"Yeah," he chuckled, turning his head to look at her, "you might be."

Betty's smile built slowly, like the shitty internet connection Jughead was still trying to get used to at his new home on the South side. She was so beautiful. He definitely hadn't seen anything like her twisted blonde ponytail since he'd moved, and even that one little piece of her was a sight for sore eyes.

"How _much_ am I in it? You can tell me, Juggy."

Betty shifted her weight onto one elbow, reaching out with her other hand to run her fingers along the back of his neck. She'd read versions of his work before, but nothing recent, nothing where he'd tidied it up and fleshed it out. Jughead sighed, closing his eyes, and leaned his head back into her hand.

"Well, my story's about the whole thing, right from the start." He opened his eyes to look at her and she stared back, in repose but as alert as ever. "You know how many people were involved, since we saw it through to the bitter end…" Betty nodded. "…but I would say that, in my version of events at least, you do emerge as a major player in the drama."

She grinned.

"That is so cool, Juggy. I'm really proud of you." Betty made her sweet, scrunched up 'I'm really proud of you' face at him. Jughead looked down, embarrassed, but he was smiling. "So what are you going to do with it now? Get somebody to look at the manuscript? Besides me and your dad, I mean."

"Yeah, I guess." He stretched his arm back and grabbed her fingers in his. "I can't stop checking it though. There are so many little details. I don't want to write a kickass metaphor and have it dragged down in the next sentence by some technical inaccuracy. I think Kevin's getting pretty sick of me begging him to ask his dad about crime scene vernacular, but I want to be thorough."

"Well, if Kev gives you any trouble, you let me know."

"Ah, the enforcer," said Jughead sarcastically. Betty scooted forward on her stomach and kissed the side of his neck. That was nice.

They'd all been pretty spectacular to him lately, though Jughead would never let them know in exactly those words. While school was still in, he'd talked to Betty on the phone almost every night and seen her most weekends. Usually they weren't alone and Jughead felt he'd been on a world record number of double dates―with Archie and Veronica making up the companion set. The phrase 'double date' made Jughead mentally gag, so he tried never to use it aloud. Conversely, Betty threw it around like confetti. He griped, but he couldn't begrudge her that small happiness, and she _had_ been happy since the weirdness with Archie was resolved. Good thing too because, selfishly, Jughead didn't want a rift that would cause him to lose half (one out of two) of his friends. Or more like two thirds, since Veronica had been annoyingly persistent in her friendliness. She just wasn't hardwired to accept that there might be a situation she couldn't nose her way into. Nevertheless, if Archie went, she went. Jughead had a feeling Veronica's top allegiance had shifted from Betty to Archie over the last few months. He knew how she felt, but backwards.

Summer had come to let them strengthen those bonds until it didn't look like anyone was about to be unceremoniously ejected from anyone else's life anytime soon. Jughead was crashing at Archie's for a whole week as July crept stickily into August. Today, however, Archie Andrews, the man the legend, was not at home. He and his parents, plus Veronica and hers (her father a newly minted Riverdalian) were doing lots of activities that reeked of family quality time. A whole disgusting day of it. Jughead knew lunch and dinner were separated by a slew of pastimes from a fetishistic hobbyist's wet dreams, but he'd taken the words 'giant chess board' as his cue to zone out of Archie's enthusiastic verbal breakdown of the itinerary. Fleetingly, Jughead had worried for Fred Andrews' safety, spending an entire day with his still slightly tenuous wife, the woman he'd taken up with in her absence, and _that_ woman's husband―fresh from the slammer. Sure, it sounded like a perfectly normal day, if you were living in a soap opera.

The only part of the plan he'd clung to was the one Archie didn't have on his checklist (Veronica had typed the thing up. He'd seen it. There were graphics to compliment the listed activities. Barf.): alone time with Betty. If Archie had told him they were going swimming in shark-infested waters without a cage, Jughead would've gleefully helped them all get fitted for wetsuits and packed them a lunch to eat on the boat.

Betty was nestling her face into him and her breath was warm on his skin.

"How are your… hosts?"

Jughead snorted.

"Everybody's fine, but don't call them my 'hosts'. Makes me sound like a disease."

"I remember a time not so long ago that you would've considered that a compliment," said Betty. "Maybe you're not as weird as you used to be."

"How dare you."

She laughed, wrapping her arms around him and smoothing her hands across his chest. Jughead put his palm over the back of one of her hands and could still almost feel his heart pounding. He grabbed his laptop in his free hand, sliding it under Archie's bed, then twisted sideways to look at Betty. She didn't give him much of an opportunity, her mouth zipping over to his like lightning seeking the tallest tree. Jughead responded gently, feeling the subtle ripple of muscles around his lips as he worked them against hers.

Normally, sweet and slow was exactly the approach to take with Betty. She liked to be held close and allowed to swoon a little in his arms. After the kiss, she'd take her time opening her eyes, the corners of her mouth inevitably lifting before her eyelids. Jughead would say something tenderly romantic to her and touch her cheek or her hair, and then they'd drift slowly back to earth from their daydream-y cloud.

Apparently that wasn't what they were doing today.

When Jughead parted his lips to whisper some sweet improvisation, Betty licked across and past them, finding the tip of his tongue. Obviously he'd Frenched the girl before, but, you know, tastefully, privately, not suddenly and desperately, like she was leading him to do now. He'd never really had to worry about his self-control with Betty because she was usually careful enough for the both of them. It didn't bother Jughead; her ability to proceed with caution was something he'd always respected about her. And yet, her present eagerness really didn't bother him either.

Stroking his tongue against hers, Jughead used the taunt strands of her hair as a roadmap to lead his fingers to her ponytail. He slid the elastic out, digging his fingers into her hair to hold her face against his. Betty moaned softly and Jughead dragged his fingertips along her scalp. Betty gripped the front of his t-shirt in a tight fist.

"That tingles," she murmured against his mouth.

Jughead grinned, opening his eyes just enough to be hit hard by the flush of Betty's cheeks. He ran his tongue over the skin in front of her ear and Betty shivered. That was when Jughead knew for certain that they'd passed some previously drawn make out line, because Archie's room was definitely not cold.

He turned the rest of the way to face her, sitting back on his heels so his jeans were pulled taut across his lap. Jughead worried that might be a problem sooner rather than later, given how his dick was already stiffening to brush the confines of his boxers. Moving his mouth under Betty's jaw and towards her throat, Jughead reached out, easing his palms down her sides. Betty lifted herself on her elbows and when Jughead's hands came back up, he let them slide over the curve of the outside of her breasts. He felt Betty's shaky exhale raise the hairs on the back of his neck and he paused with his hands resting on the back of her arms.

"Betty?"

"Yeah?" She opened her eyes slowly as always, but the look in them wasn't dreamy… it was desirous.

"I want this to continue…" Jughead swallowed, "… _so_ bad, but this position is giving me 'sinking of the Titanic' vibes."

Betty's mouth seemed to struggle to contain a laugh.

"Alright. Up or down?" She gestured between the bed and the floor, where Jughead's sleeping bag was spread out behind him.

"Remember… where you are," Jughead paraphrased in his best Mufasa voice. "I don't think either of us wants the future trauma of recalling the time we made out on Archie's bed."

"Ok, can we turn off the '90s movie references?" Betty gave him an exaggeratedly fed up look that was very _Girl, Interrupted_ -era Winona Ryder. Jughead resisted describing it to her as such.

"Ugh," he groaned deeply, feeling it in his chest, "I was born a decade late."

"Lucky for me, or else what I was hoping you'd do to me today would be illegal."

"D―Do to you?" Suddenly, Jughead could not control his eyes. They were on her lips, her eyes, the loosely draped neckline of her shirt that he could currently see down a little.

"Do _with_ me, if you prefer." Betty looked wonderfully serious. "Although, I think asking you to do something with me sounds more like an invitation to go to the grocery store, or on one of the activities from Veronica's family fun list."

"Yeah, for sure. No argument from me on the word choice," Jughead stumbled out. Betty waited, but Jughead's brain had bound his tongue like Houdini.

"And on the implication itself? Any argument there?" Betty looked far less nonchalant now. She was nervousness edging towards embarrassment, dropping her eyes from his face to stare at the hands she had flat in front of her on the bed. Jughead folded his hand lightly around her jaw and her green eyes flicked up.

"Fuck no."

"You know," Betty started, "that kind of sends a mixed message―"

Jughead's mouth bumped impatiently into hers, cutting off her words and hopefully some of her anxious thoughts. Betty grabbed the back of his neck, pressing her mouth furiously against his and Jughead tugged her behind the arms, pulling her into him more and more, moving his hands to her shoulders, the center of her back, until she was toppling off the bed onto him.

They were tangled up; Jughead's bent legs were trapped and he tried to straighten them without kneeing Betty in the stomach. She, meanwhile, was repositioning the hands that had clapped down on his chest when she started to fall, bracing herself on the floor to either side of him instead. A few twists away from the end of their corporeal Rubik's Cube, Jughead caught Betty's pink face between his hands and leaned up to kiss her. Without their brains to get in the way, their bodies figures things out for themselves, though it still resulted in Betty laying stretched out on Jughead like he was a beach towel. Trustingly, Betty relaxed her arms until her full weight rested on Jughead. He felt hot and pinned and happy. His erection was obvious.

Jughead groaned into Betty's mouth when she shuffled around, getting her knees under her to drag her hips into alignment with his, straddling him. Jughead groaned more and ran his hand down Betty's spine. His fingers rode her vertebrae like waves, stuttering over the closure of her bra and continuing down to fan across her lower back, then clench firmly around her ass, holding her to him. Betty jerked and rubbed against him, her breasts as well as her crotch, so Jughead reached for the hem of her pale peach t-shirt with trembling fingers. Betty sat up, peeling her body away from his as he peeled the shirt up her back.

As he was uncovering her breasts, Betty took over and Jughead let his hands fall to her thighs, via her waist and hips. She looked down at him a little shyly, but that inner toughness of hers took over (he could see it in her eyes) and her torso stretched as she drew the shirt up her arms and off.

The sight of her skin was overwhelming. This was why Jughead had turned down every beach trip Betty had suggested that summer: seeing this much of Betty meant he couldn't control himself. The roundness of her breasts in and above the cups of her white lace bra filled Jughead with simultaneous want and thankfulness―that he'd urged her to just go ahead to the beach with Veronica and not feel bad about him staying home. Swim trunks wouldn't be enough to conceal the obvious passion her partial nudity inspired in him. It was too much, and yet, still not enough.

"Can I?"

Jughead held the side of her ribcage, tucking his fingers under the band of her bra and moving them along the track to the clasp. She nodded, her eyes wide and void of hesitation.

"Please."

He pinched the back open then brought his hands to her shoulders, easing down one strap at a time. Reflexively, Betty's hands jumped up to hold the cups of her bra against her as the straps and open clasp hung down. She smiled at him shakily and exhaled loudly like a woman in labour, working herself up to the task. Jughead laughed until his dick bumped up against her, making the blood pulse urgently into his erection. Apparently, that reaffirmation of his desire was convincing (or distracting) enough to nudge Betty into action, because she dropped her hands and the pale lingerie followed.

"Oh man," Jughead said quietly, struggling to sit up with Betty in his lap. He pressed his lips to her collarbone, breathing the sweet scent of her. Betty had her hands on his lower back, bringing his shirt up with desperate fingers, the nails of which scraped against his skin. It caught at Jughead's shoulders, netting him into her, her breasts compressing against the planes of his chest. He raised his arms for her, pulling teasingly at her lips with his own, so that even before the shirt was off, she was grinding into his lap, making adrenaline rip through him.

"God, Betty," he mumbled against her mouth, his arms coming around her far enough for his hands to close over the opposite sides of her hips. She reached straight for the protrusion between them, feeling him up roughly before navigating the button of his jeans back through the hole that held them closed. He felt out for the floor beside him and slumped back, taking Betty with him, then rolled her onto her back.

Betty kept her hands at Jughead's hips, jerking the zipper of his pants down and wriggling her hand under the waist of his boxers like she was drawing a name at a raffle. He shuddered as she closed her fingers around his length, her grasp gentle despite the wild way she'd gone for him. Jughead propped himself up, glancing down his body to where Betty's hand had started in with long, loose strokes, before he had to close his eyes so he didn't scare Betty when his eyes rolled back in his head from the pleasure of her touch.

He buried his face in her neck, Betty evidently taking this as her cue to burrow in a little further, running her fingers from base to tip, while Jughead started to automatically throw his hips forward against her palm. It was good, too, too good, and he needed it to last. Jughead moved backwards, down Betty's body so that she released her grip―only to replace it on his hip when he bit lightly down on her breast next to her nipple. Betty moaned, fisting his hair, and Jughead traced a loving half-circle around her nipple with the tip of his tongue.

Her chest was heaving suddenly, her skin electrified to his touch. Jughead moved his mouth over her nipple, beginning with a suck and ending with the unyielding edge of his teeth. Betty pressed into him, holding his head down from above, and arching herself up to his mouth from below. Jughead grinned to himself, kissing wetly over to her other breast as his palm trailed down her stomach, stilling on her abdomen. She must have expected him to stop there because Betty practically convulsed in his arms when Jughead skipped down to cup her firmly between the legs.

"You ready?" he whispered into the smooth skin of her breast.

"Yes," she breathed. "Now, _now_ , Juggy."

He flicked open the button of her shorts and lowered the zipper. They must have been new; the zipper was a little stiff. Jughead levered his body up, watching his hands reveal more of her. The fastenings undone, he saw an edge of white lace. His hands felt damp and his mouth was dry. He sat back on his heels as before, Betty's hands dropping to the ground when she wasn't sure where to settle them, and tugged both layers over the curve of her hips.

The skin of Betty's abdomen erupted in goosebumps and Jughead glanced up to see her pleading eyes and tightened raspberry nipples. He bent over, introducing her goosebumps to the texture of his tongue. Betty let out a gusty exhale like someone about to laugh, so Jughead ran his tongue a little lower, and a little lower after that, until he was chasing the upper band of her panties as his hands removed them. Then, he whisked the layers off her legs and settled back in, all tongue and no excuse.

Betty cried out when he flattened his tongue over her entrance. So far so good, she was incredibly wet and soaking him more by the second. Jughead felt her out painstakingly, as he'd done with her nipples, until Betty was breathing so hard he was tempted to tell her to put her head between her knees… except _his_ head was already there. He caught her clit in a swift upward flick of her tongue and Betty keened, starting to quiver beneath him.

Jughead brought his arm around under her back and partly lifted, partly just dragged her backwards onto the soft worn cotton of his sleeping bag. As he was moving himself once again into licking posture, Betty trapped his hips with her feet, pushing his jeans down his legs. His boxers got hung up on his erection and Jughead was about to free them when Betty panted out "Let me." She reached up and ran a hand across his chest, scratching suddenly over his nipple before smoothing along his abs. Jughead gave Betty a look composed of a smirk and a raised eyebrow, but she shrugged, raising her own blonde eyebrow in return, her eyes glowing like sunlight through a maple leaf.

Her fingers trailed down the V of his hips to stroke again down his length―not as firmly as he would have liked, but Jughead tried to assure the nearly overpowering will of his penis that a little patience here would soon be rewarded. She hooked her fingers under the edge of his boxers and slid them down to meet his jeans. Jughead kicked both things off awkwardly, hyper-aware of the weight of his exposed erection hanging between them.

Apparently so was Betty.

She bent her knees and let them fall open to him, Jughead shaking slightly as he dropped his eyes to stare at her glistening entrance. He could tell this was Betty asking him to continue and, holy shit, was he _ever_ ready to accept.

Jughead closed the distance between them, giving her a gentle, lingering kiss when he guided his cock to her by hand. Betty trembled as he ran the head back and forth over her clit (intentionally) before pressing inside her, one slick centimeter at a time, internally coaching himself away from the edge of ultimate bliss.

Betty's controlled breathing was impressive, but Jughead wasn't very interested in that. When she started to relax, running her hands over his shoulders, Jughead roughly shoved himself the rest of the way in. He could tell the inch or two he'd held back had surprised her because she shouted his name, clamping her eyes shut. Biting his lip, Jughead pulled smoothly out, then pushed just as smoothly back in. Betty's skin was getting hot, her hands clammy when she gripped his upper back. He'd never wanted to kiss her so badly, but there was too much to watch. Her face hid nothing and he tracked her building pleasure in the blush of her cheeks, the shine of her eyes, and the way her lips were turning red from her clipping them with her teeth. She was breathtaking.

Getting comfortable with his steady rhythm, Betty started answering Jughead's thrusts, pushing dependably against him to make sure she was getting every inch, every time. The feel of her rocking away beneath him seemed too good to be deserved and Jughead excitedly drove into her. Hard. Her nails dug into his back and she arched her neck, sliding her bright blonde hair along the ground.

"More like that," she panted.

Jughead drilled into her again, sharply enough that the sleeping bag shifted under them, frictionless on the hardwood floor of Archie's bedroom. Betty let out a hysterical little giggle and planted her bare feet on the floor to either side of the sleeping bag. Jughead's feet were already touching floor, but he tucked his hands under the sides of the bag and stuck them to the ground, the material cradling Betty's shoulders. They, at least, wouldn't be going anywhere now.

He thrust forward, Betty lifting her hips to his and the sleeping bag sliding away a little more. It bunched under her hips and Jughead left it alone, ploughing ahead at a more rapid pace. Betty moaned, her hips tilting up differently than before. He must have been connecting with a new spot inside her. A good one.

Jughead dove into her over and over, the bite of her nails on his back acting as the response to his call. Betty started to grasp at him more frantically, mumbling his name, so Jughead hastily felt between them, pressing down on her clit and dragging it in a lazy loop. It was slicked by her arousal, everything in that area was, and tricky to keep his fingers on, but concentrating hard on that allowed Jughead a little more time to stave off his own imminent climax.

"Juggy... Juggy JuggyJuggyJuggy," Betty moaned, his name tumbling out exponentially faster.

He angled his hips the best he could and aimed for that pleasurable target inside her front wall. Betty let out a sobbing cry and arched her back, slamming her hips into his so that Jughead nearly choked on the force of his own release, grabbing her to him as they gasped and groaned together. He was dying. He was being born. He was Ellie Arroway in _Contact_ when she goes hurtling through the wormhole. Even his unhinged mid-orgasm mind had a '90s movie reference ready.

Jughead slowed the steady stroke his hips had taken it upon themselves to keep up while his mind was elsewhere and pulled gingerly out of Betty. She breathed in and out shakily, but nodded to him to signal she was ok. Jughead flopped over onto his side, taking a minute to realize his sweaty skin was sticking to wood floor, not cotton sleeping bag. Keeping his head horizontal, Jughead scanned around, discovering the sleeping bag crumpled and crammed against the wall. He gestured to it weakly and Betty tipped her head back to look. She laughed.

"I noticed it wasn't under my back anymore, but I was a little too distracted to worry about where it had gone."

"Well, if that isn't the ultimate flattery, I don't know what is." Jughead threw his arm over Betty and tugged her against him. She smiled and kissed him, touching his cheek and winding her fingers in his hair.

They lay still for several minutes, just to breathe.

"So, do you think that'll help?" asked Betty.

Jughead frowned in confusion.

"Will what help with what?"

Betty was grinning.

"Will _this_ ," she rolled to face him and pressed her naked body more firmly into his, "help with your manuscript."

"Oh, you mean my secret erotica project?"

Betty laughed.

"No, but if you have one, I'd be _very_ interested in looking it over. You said you were trying not to miss any little details in your manuscript. You also led me to believe I was a _pretty_ crucial part of it." Betty looked at him smugly and Jughead snorted.

"There is no way in hell I'm sharing intimate details of your body with the world―"

"Well, it's quite an assumption to make that your story would have such a wide audience."

Jughead's mouth dropped open.

"Has anyone ever told you that sex makes you really cocky?"

"You know I've only ever had it with you," Betty said, rolling her eyes playfully.

"Well now _I'm_ feeling cocky."

"Prove it."

Jughead grinned and kissed her deeply. Betty pulled back.

"And those details?"

"Oh, I don't need to write them down to remember them." He tapped his temple and Betty smiled. "And maybe I'll need material for the sequel."

Betty made a shocked, laughing noise, but Jughead's mouth was already closing over hers.


End file.
